Author of the Alchemancer and Assassin Without a Name fantasy series

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Faithless by Graham Austin-King is one of those books that I didn’t necessarily expect greatness from, but where I was really hoping for an engaging story, some competent writing, and maybe even a handful of moments where I could look back on the reading experience with some fondness. Unfortunately, the author did not deliver on my expectations on enough counts for me to continue reading past about 20%. I do thank the publisher for giving me the opportunity to review Faithless, but a combination of flat writing and flatter characters made for a generally unengaging experience.

The premise wasn’t half bad. There’s a temple with mines underneath. People are called to service, presumably to the temple but, in actuality, to work in the mines. But if one makes their tally so many times in a row, that person has the chance to go before the priests and serve them instead of toiling away in the mines. We are introduced to one such character who was sold into service by his father and another who worked his way out of the mines to serve the priests, but who came back to the mines under mysterious circumstances.

The problem is that neither character is particularly interesting. They’re actually quite ordinary, with no special aptitudes or skills, and nothing about them really grabbed me. Same for the writing. It’s competent enough, but couldn’t make up for the other shortcomings that ultimately led me to put this one down.

I almost feel as if I could give Faithless a higher mark than a single rocket because some people will like it. But I also can’t recommend a book that I couldn’t finish, so one rocket it is.

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Building on the success of The Martian, Artemis by Andy Weir is a book you want to love. You expect science, adventure, gripping moments, and, of course, humor, just like you experienced in The Martian. Artemis does, in fact, deliver on all of those fronts (at least I’ll have to assume it does since I only made it 15% of the way through on my Kindle before I gave up), but in a way that is so ridiculously similar to Weir’s first breakout success that you might wonder if you’re reading the same book at times.

Not that this is a rehash of The Martian. The setting is different—we’re on the Moon this time instead of Mars and our main character isn’t trapped but living inside a dome that is part of a Moon base. The main character is different as well. Different gender, different ethnicity, different background, though her sarcasm and juvenile humor are so nearly identical to that of Watney’s that you have to wonder if Watney had a sex change.

What really killed this book for me was a combination of the unlikeable main character, Weir’s unsophisticated writing style (which actually worked for The Martian because it was Mark Watney telling the story), and the juvenile humor of a character that is, again, so similar to Watney that maybe it is him just in disguise? I’m kidding, of course. Jazz Bashara is most definitely not Mark Watney, though the author clearly lost sight of that fact when he was writing Artemis.

Jazz is a porter, doing odd jobs for what passes for money on the base. She’s offered the job of a lifetime (with pay to match) which I know from reading the book’s description goes bad so that Jazz finds herself mixed up in a plot for control of the very base. Not an entirely bad premise, but not one that piqued my interest enough to put up with the other factors bringing this one down.

I can’t give Artemis more than one rocket. I didn’t finish it and I see no reason for anyone else to even start it. I do thank the publisher for allowing me to read the book in exchange for a fair review. Better luck next time? I hope so, because I really did want this one to work.

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Nemo Rising by C. Courtney Joyner is a continuation of the classic story begun by Jules Verne in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Nemo is rotting in prison while he awaits the carrying out of his death sentence for the ships he sunk and the lives he took as captain of the technologically advanced Nautilus. Meanwhile, the ships of all nations except the United States continue to be sunk, but by unknown parties. President Grant finds himself in a quandary as suspicions arise that no ships of his nation are falling prey to the mysterious attackers. The other nations of the world believe the United States is somehow using Nemo’s own technology against them in an attempt to seize ultimate power. Grant has no choice but to spare Nemo from the hangman’s noose and enlist his aid in solving the mystery of who is really behind the attacks. Once more, Nemo captains the infamous Nautilus, but this time in service to one of the warmongering nations Nemo hates the most.

So begins a very promising story that, unfortunately, is dragged to the depths of the deepest ocean by, amongst other things, the writing style of the novel’s author. The book cover alone for Nemo Rising is spectacular. Throw in the connection to the Jules Verne classic and Captain Nemo and who wouldn’t want to pick this book up? There’s a certain promise of quality I felt was understood between myself, the author, and the publisher. Granted, I received this book from the publisher in exchange for a fair and honest review, so the only investment I have in Nemo Rising is the time it took me to read it, but I still felt that when you slap such an incredibly awesome cover on a book, which is also a sequel to 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, that you have to deliver. Nemo Rising, sadly, did not.

First, there’s the writing style. Based on his bio on Goodreads, Mr. Joyner is an accomplished screenwriter, with many movies to his credit. Unfortunately, writing a screenplay and writing a novel are two very different things. Looking back, and now knowing of Mr. Joyner’s background, the writing style of Nemo Rising actually makes sense (perhaps it’s the only thing that makes sense during this entire reading experience). It’s written with such matter-of-factness, such mechanical structure, with little to no description or background or even the smallest setup for a scene or other occurrence, that I had to go back many times to figure out how or what just happened. Too many times, ‘something’ happens, with no preamble or buildup. It’s jarring at times, confusing at others, and disappointing overall.

Moving on, there’s the characters, which fall flat time and time again. There are no character arcs, no character descriptions, no character anything except names and a bit of discussion about Nemo or some other person’s philosophies. It’s a shame, too, because the author could have made Nemo a sympathetic character, one who we may never forgive for the countless innocent lives he took, but at least one we might have some understanding of with respect to his motives. There’s references to his wife and child, both driving forces in his mad acts of the Vernes’ novel, but not once does the author delve into the implications of that event. Nemo is a very driven man, but we are never given a glimpse into his psyche. There are so many lost opportunities there that I cannot begin to even document them here.

I could go on, but it’s almost depressing to consider Nemo Rising in any more depth than I already have because of how great of a novel this could have been. I’m giving it one rocket because I just don’t see any reason for anyone to read this book.

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Krampus by Brom celebrates the mythology and folklore surrounding the pagan figure of Krampus, the Yule Lord, in a novel that is part fantasy, part horror, and part holiday treat. I went into this one with neither the highest expectations nor the foggiest idea what direction the story might take. Though the beginning is a tad shaky, as we are introduced to the main character Jesse, once the disparate pieces start falling into place I was pleasantly surprised to find a wide array of characters with rich personalities and motives and a story that portrays Krampus as everything one would expect: he is both good and terrible, with qualities that make him, in many cases, as human as you or I.

Though the legend of Krampus cuts across different cultures and takes many forms as a result, Brom selects a decidedly Norse leaning interpretation of the horned creature. Those familiar with Norse mythology will encounter many familiar personas (some directly and others by reference): there’s Odin, Loki, Hel, Geri, Freki, Huginn, Muninn, and others. Krampus’s acolytes are referred to as Belsnickels, which is not Norse in origin but German, brought over by early immigrants to America from that country. Then there’s the Christian influence, the followers of which instantly see Krampus as none other than Satan himself. Krampus is a seven foot tall demon with curved horns sprouting from his head, so can’t really blame them.

The story of Krampus is this: Santa Claus imprisoned Krampus hundreds of years ago and, as a result, Yule and its traditions have been forgotten. Krampus himself is wasted away, a sad shadow of his former self. But he still yearns to return to the world to spread his own particular form of holiday cheer. His Belsnickels, or servants, carry out his will, slowly setting the stage for the Yule Lord’s escape and the fruition of Krampus’s dream: to kill Santa Claus and to then remind the world that Krampus was here first.

While there are elements of horror in Krampus, this is not solely a horror novel. There are some gruesome deaths, but there are also many fantastical elements, such as Santa’s flying sled, reindeer, and his sack, which he stole from Krampus long ago and which can produce nearly anything one desires as long as the user is of Loki’s bloodline.

What struck me the most about Krampus is the characters. Jesse is a loser looking for his way in life while trying to win back his estranged wife and daughter (very cliché, I know, but he kind of grows on you). Some of the baddies, including the General and Chief Dillard, are mostly just bad with no motive other than that. But the Belsnickels and Krampus himself felt very real to me. Each Belsnickel was “recruited” at different times and under different circumstances. One is near a hundred years old (Belsnickels do not age since they have the blood of Krampus flowing through their veins) and another, Isabel, a girl of about twenty, has been that age for going on forty years. Wipi, Nipi, and Makwa want nothing more than to serve their lord. Vernon would prefer the Yule Lord keel over and die; he does little to hide these feelings, too, which presented some laugh out loud moments for me. Isabel, Krampus’s “little lion,” is the little sister archetype. She left behind a newborn child in her previous life and she longs to return to that life to undo some mistakes she made, but she’s also terrified of facing those failures and of being rejected by her now grown child. Even Krampus, who is both good and terrible, has his own inner struggles as he tries to cope with the fact that the world has moved on without him. It’s not until the end that Krampus rediscovers himself entirely:

Jesse had never seen this side of the Yule Lord, and it occurred to him that he was seeing the real Krampus, the Krampus of ancient times, the great and wild Yule spirit that galvanized mankind to brave the darkest primeval nights, kindled their will to survive the trials of the harshest winters. He could almost see the horned beast dancing this very jig within the communal houses of primitive man. Jesse saw the way the people fed on Krampus’s spirit, and how, in turn, Krampus fed on theirs. And understood now just why those shoes, with their small tribute of candies, meant so much to the Yule Lord. That what Krampus needed more than anything was a flock to shepherd, to protect and inspire.

Krampus is as much a story about the traditions of Christmas and Yule as it is a tale of discovery. Krampus steals the show in many scenes, but the supporting characters have stories of their own that I found intriguing and fun to follow along. Krampus is an alternate classic for the holidays which I could see myself reading again and again.

Letters from Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien is a charming collection of the letters Mr. Tolkien wrote to his children each year for Christmas as they were growing up. Each story is told from the perspective of Father Christmas himself, but there are other characters that sometimes take the spotlight and write to the children, including most notably a polar bear who seems to find himself in a bit of trouble with Father Christmas from time to time and has his own adventures worth sharing with Tolkien’s children.

The letters are actually meticulously crafted demonstrations of art and calligraphy. While the former seems intended for a young audience, with dancing bears and a variety of colors, the typography is something to behold all by itself. When one considers the same meticulousness that went into certain other works of the author, it’s no wonder he put such thought and care into the lettering of these whimsical narrations.

One recommendation: If you buy the Kindle edition of this book, do yourself a favor and read it on a color device such as a Fire tablet or iPad. A black and white, E Ink Kindle does not do the art, colors, and typography justice, and that’s what you’ll want to see most here. The stories told in each letter are charming in their own right, but they’re not the main attraction (though they do provide some amusement).

Letters from Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien is a fun, almost nostalgic-like glimpse into the lives of the Tolkiens. It’s the sort of book one can share with the children each and every year much like Mr. Tolkien did with his own children. I’m giving it a solid three rockets and hope you enjoy it.

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